Daria, The Hunted
by Love Gordon
Summary: Nine years after Behind The Pom-Poms, Trent hires a bounty hunter... *New! Part Two!*
1. Default Chapter

**Daria, The Hunted** by Love Gordon   
Seven years after "What is Memory?", Trent goes searching for his long-lost   
girlfriend, Daria Morgendorffer. Several surprises come in the form of the bounty hunter he   
employs… 

_[Hyperlinks are to pictures]_

**Chapter One**   
**April 6, 2009**   
Yes, that's right. I, Trent Lane, had to hire a bounty hunter to find Daria. The CIA   
manages the country so well, it's driven private detectives out of business. But in the   
underground, lawless society beneath their feet, you can still find a bounty hunter or two.   
The one I was meeting in this filthy, disgusting pub in a diseased corner of NYC   
was one of the best. D.D. Powers, who'd apparently taken a liberal dose of Daria's books,   
was a CIA veteran with cunning to match. Sloane had recommended her to me, after she'd   
located one of Quinn's missing Shi Tzu's, Pooky.   
Quinn. She was Daria's sister, and Tom Sloane's wife. But even she had no idea   
where Daria had lit out for when she took herself and suitcase out of my door, five years   
and three months to this day. I'd hired some of the CIA's best, but even they didn't have   
what this Powers woman did.   
She had the power to control the entire country from her PC.   
Or so Sloane said   
The door opened. Whoa! That was D.D. Powers. Jesus, you'd think she was sewn   
into [that outfit.][1]   
Her long brown hair swished about her shoulders. Despite her glasses, D.D. was pretty,   
almost as beautiful as Daria, until you noticed the gun strapped at her waist.   
"Hey," she said, slipping into the booth. "Spiky hair. You must be the guy Sloane   
told me about." She flipped her ID on the table, flashing the CIA mug shot.   
"Yeah."   
"I'm D.D. Powers, call me D. What's the name?"   
"Trent Lane."   
"And your business?"   
"I'm searching for a Daria Morgendorffer. Quinn Sloane's sister. She walked out   
my door five years ago, and took my heart with her."   
"May I ask why you're searching for her _now_?" D. asked.   
"I've _been_ searching for her, without any luck. But according to Sloane, most ex-   
agents don't have what you have."   
"What would that be, Mr. Lane?"   
"Some sort of super computer system, and a good rapport with the CIA. Why aren't   
you still in the CIA, by the way?"   
D. pursed her lips, irritated. "I don't see as how it's any of _your_ business."   
"I'm just curious."   
"I've got a kid to take care of. The CIA dragged us to all four corners of the world.   
At least Jimmy doesn't have to be shot at by Iraqis in America. There's plenty of pond   
scum to feed the both us here. Bounty hunting pays well."   
"Oh." She looked awfully young to be a mother. Then again, since I'm 32, pretty   
much everyone looks young these days.   
"I'll look for her. But I can't promise anything. Who did you hire previously?"   
"McAllister. And Genevieve DuMackie, for a short period of time."   
"Payment?"   
"A hundred thousand up front. A million if you find her."   
"A million?"   
"A million."   
"I'll see what I can do." As D. glided out of the disreputable pub, I watched my last   
speck of hope follow her. She seemed able. And there was something familiar about her, as   
well.   
*****   
**April 7, 2009**   
She'd just left the pub. Checking her watch, she found it was after one in the   
morning. _Oh well_, she thought, _Jimmy's staying with Ani tonight anyway_.   
She couldn't believe she'd had the nerve. Working with Sloane, Quinn had never   
seen her, but even so, she was taking a risk. But Trent hadn't recognized her. _Makeup_   
_helps_, she mused. Even though Ani was busy with her two kids, Molly and Ralph, these   
days, it was actually quite informative and helpful to have the Chairwoman of the USA for   
a friend.   
Maybe she should have given up when she walked in the pub. Only a few people in   
the CIA, as well as her publishers, knew Daria was still alive, after all. She hadn't seen Trent or   
Jane in years. It hurt. And she knew she should surrender. No use holding grudges, after all.   
But he didn't recognize her. And he hadn't known she was pregnant when she and a   
suitcase boarded a city bus, away from their apartment. Then again, neither had she, but she   
still didn't have to reveal herself if she didn't want to.   
But Jimmy… oh, hell.   
_ By the end of the week_, Daria promised herself, I'll tell him. _After all, she had until April_   
_13th._

**Chapter Two**   
**April 8, 2009**   
Two days later, D. called me.   
"Yo, Lane?" said the voice on the other end of the phone. It was six in the morning.   
"Jesus Christ, D., what the hell are you doing calling me at this hour?"   
"Shut up. Listen, I've got to run, but meet me at Monty's on 4th Street at 6 pm. I've   
got a lead."   
After that, I couldn't get back to sleep. Maybe… Not in all the time I'd worked   
with McAllister had he ever called me with a lead. I made myself some scrambled eggs   
and sat down to the paper.   
Daria had just released another book. I sighed. I knew that she must be alive, from   
reading them, but in all other ways she seemed to have vanished. I looked at the picture of   
her, taken five years ago. She'd probably look a lot like D., today. Maybe she'd even   
married and had a kid like D. How should I know?   
If only we hadn't had that stupid fight over the CIA. They'd offered her a position. I   
didn't want her to go. It was so dangerous, for a man or a woman. Maybe she had gone.   
Maybe she wasn't coming back, and all these manuscripts were published posthumously.   
Like I said, how should I know? I hadn't seen her in five years.   
And all these maybes and ifs weren't going to changed that.   
  
***** 

"So", she said in conclusion. "I've got several leads to follow up. I think I may   
have located her apartment."   
"Brava," said Trent. "Listen, D., could you- if she doesn't want to see me, could   
you give her a letter?"   
"Look, Lane, I don't think we're in any danger of finding her right away. I'll give   
you a call if and when I do find her, and you can talk to her. Don't screw with my job,   
'kay?"   
He sighed, running his fingers through his hair.   
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just find her. I don't care how much it costs or how you do   
it, just find her, and tell her I love her, okay?"   
It was hard to believe that she was keeping a secret from this man. He loved her.   
But… she didn't want tell him, for some reason. _Why am I so frightened?_ she asked   
herself._ I am D., I am Daria. No matter what, I will always be myself. No one can take_   
_that away from me._****

**Chapter Three**   
**April 8, 2009**   
Why was I so angry with D.? I didn't know. All I knew was that, if she didn't find   
Daria soon, I might throw her out of a window. She seemed so… unfeeling, I guess. It was   
almost as if she didn't care if Daria was found or not.   
Even working with that incompetent asswipe, Genevieve DuMackie, was better.   
Genevieve was always perky, talking about her husband, their five kids, their dog… even   
though she'd made no progress since I'd hired her. The most I'd been able to pry out of D.   
was that she had a son named Jimmy. How's that for verbose?   
A fax came through early that afternoon. 

_ Lane-_   
_ Talked w/ ex-landlord. Remembers her, roommate, okay. Says, Soho? Checked_   
_that out. Dead end. CIA registers a Daria D. Morgendorffer two weeks after move-out_   
_date, in December 2004. Stationed in Iraq, 2005-2006. I remember her from Iraq,_   
_actually. One dependent, as of August 2004. She left when her four-year contract ended,_   
_in 2008. Current whereabouts unknown._   
_ -D._   
_ You can reach me by phone- killerboots969, or email- powers@missanarchy.org_

_Roommate?_   
That was the first thing that registered in my mind.   
Then-   
_Dependent???_   
I'm no English major, as Daria had once been, but I had a pretty good idea of what   
that meant. Just to be sure, I looked it up in a dictionary, if that could somehow make it   
more real.__

_ **dependent** adj. 1: not independent; "dependent children" [ant: independent]_

I remembered, in the week before our long-ago fight, Daria had had a terrible case   
of what I thought was the flu, waking up each morning and throwing up until there wasn't   
anything left to come up. Truthfully, I didn't think she had known when she walked out the   
door. She had a baby, my Daria, all by herself. I only wished that I could have been with   
her. And now I had a child, a Molly or Jimmy all my own. It was so hard to comprehend. In   
the space of days a long undiscovered truth came to light before my eyes.   
Roomate? Probably one of Daria's New York friends or something. Oddly, she'd   
made many, on all levels of society, since she'd moved the Big Apple in late 2000.   
I picked up the phone. Janey, I had to call Janey. But before I could dial the once   
familiar number of her Maine retreat, I replaced the reciever. Sadly, we'd grown apart   
over the years, living in different states, without Daria to keep us all together. When I found   
Daria, I hoped, we would all be as close as we had been ten years before, when Janey and   
Daria were in high school.   
Then I picked up the phone again.   
_ k.. i.. l.. l.. e.. r.. b.. o.. o.. t.. s.. 9.. 6.. 9 _I dialed.   
*****   
Jimmy was peacefully coloring in his coloring book, she was working on a new   
novel, and the stove was patiently bringing a kettle of water to boil. When the kettle started   
to screech, she poured the water into two cups, one with cocoa mix, for her son, and one   
with a tea bag, for herself. After it had brewed, she sipped the scalding tea warily as she   
sat in front of her computer.   
The phone rang, shattering the peaceful silence.   
"I'll get it, Mommy!" yelped her son.   
Before she could move, he'd answered the phone. "Hi, this is Jimmy. Who would   
you like to speak to?"   
Apparently it was her, for he handed the phone to his mother, grabbed his cocoa,   
and was back to his coloring book in the nezt room.   
"Hello?" she said.   
"Daria?" It was Jane.   
"How... how did you get this number?" They hadn't spoken since Iraq. She'd been   
suddenly transferred to England on a reconnaisance mission, Jane had moved, and they'd   
lost touch. She was surprised at how happy she was to hear her friend's voice.   
"Ani. I heard that Trent had hired a bounty hunter to find you, and I wanted to warn   
you. If you're still angry with him."   
Laughing, she replied, "Jane, do you know what I do for a living now?"   
"Are you some kind of pole dancer or something?"   
"No, I'm a bounty hunter. He hired _me_ to find me."   
"You're kidding!"   
"No, absolutely serious."   
"So what are you going to do? I mean, I thought you _hated_ him."   
"Iraq... Iraq changed a lot of things. My only good friend over there, Bull Schitt,   
was killed by the sniper that almost got Jimmy. I have different priorities now. I want   
Jimmy to be able to go to kindergarten, to live past his fifth birthday. Two years ago, there   
was a large chance that neither of us might see that day. I want him to have a dad."   
"But do you..."   
"Still want Trent?" Daria blushed. That hadn't come out as she'd intended. "Um,   
yeah. It was just me making a mountain out of molehill, and I'm actually kind of   
embarrassed about the whole thing..."   
"I'm coming down to New York tomorrow. Can you meet me at the old meeting   
place? At three?"   
"It'll be my pleasure."   
*****   
However, the line was busy.****

**Chapter Four**   
**April 9, 2009**   
The two women standing outside the Metropolitan Museum of Art saw each other,   
ran, and embraced. A little boy clung at the shorter woman's skirts, and the taller woman,   
who had black hair, bent down and picked him up. They went into the museum.   
They were standing in the spot where Daria, Jane, and I used to meet for our   
Saturday routine of a museum and coffee. Over five years had passed since I had seen her   
and Jane there, waiting for me.   
How could I have been so blind? As if the fact that D. was beautiful, her wardrobe   
for hunting was skintight, and her hair was a few shades lighter could disguise her.   
Watching her walk in the Indian skirt, her long hair hanging at her shoulders, my sister   
carrying our son, I knew. That was Daria. And that was our son, our Jimmy.   
I was lucky to have passed by, I felt. But somehow, I knew it was more than luck; it   
was fate.   
Somewhile later, they emerged. My sister sat down on the steps, and Daria stood   
outside the museum, the skirt whipping about her ankles, as I walked up to her. She was   
holding the little boy with black hair, who was fast asleep.   
"D.?" I said hesitantly.   
"It's still Daria," she said.   
Jimmy woke up.   
"Mommy? Who's this?" he asked.   
"This is Daddy, Jimmy."   
My son held out his arms, and I gave Jimmy a hug. 

THE END   
  


This is pretty weird, even for me. The kind of thing where you just shrug, and go   
"interesting." But I wanted to explore the future with Daria, and to tell the truth, I couldn't   
see her as anything other than a bounty hunter. Sort of an Mrs. Peel/Dark Angel hybrid.   
So, if you liked it, or thought it sucked, please review? even if you were entirely apathetic   
on the whole? please? 

Look for a prequel to this explaining the mysterious roommate, as well as other things,   
sometime soon.   
: )   
  


**Daria, The Hunted** is copyright February 2001 by Love Gordon 

**Soundtrack-**   
Chapter One-_Sonic Youth, **Orange Rolls, Angel's Spit**_   
Chapter Two-_Rock Rock Chicken Pox, **Foreign Car**_   
Chapter Three-_Hole, **I Think That I Would Die**_   
Chapter Four-_Smashing Pumpkins, **Innocence**_

   [1]: http://www.geocities.com/zer0_gurl/ddpowerz.jpg



	2. Home

Part Two- Home by Love Gordon

**_Part Two-_ Home by Love Gordon******

** **

**January 5, 2004 - ****Daria**

I hadn't been feeling well all that week, and Trent certainly hadn't been helping. He was so high strung about that damn merger, he was pulling his hair out one moment and jumping for joy the next. The merger? PennyLane Records was aquiring Geffen and all its subsidiaries. Pretty big, but still... I was PennyLane's CEO, and I wasn't not freaking. Then again, he was the president, and five years ago he was still living with his parents.

"Daria!" There he went again, yelling at me, when I had a headache and I'd been throwing up all morning. I'd called in sick at the office, with that damn flu virus. Actually, I'd called in sick for the last week. I just rolled over in bed and ignored him. It was one in the afternoon, and I should've gotten up ages before, but my body wanted me to stay put. So I did.

"Daria?" Trent said, coming into our room. He'd just gotten off work, and early, too. "Still sick?" He rested a hand on my forehead. "You don't have a fever."

"I know," I moaned. "Believe me, if I had a fever, I'd be off to the doctor."

"You should go see Dr. Barksdale anyway. You haven't had a checkup in over a year." Trent fluffed up a pillow behind my head. I didn't know what I'd do without him. He was like half my soul, and thoughtful, too. At least, he could be, when he wasn't concentrating on the stupid merger.

"And I haven't seen Amy in three months," I replied. "Hand me the phone?"

So, I made an appointment. I really couldn't afford to miss another day or so at the office. Not because of the work pile-up, Trent had brought home most of it, but because for my staff to work smoothly, they apparently needed a little mediator in the sky. Me. Few appreciated the irony.

*****

**November 8, 2008 - ****Jane**

I don't know much about what happened that night. I never asked. All I know is that Daria turned up on my doorstep close to midnight on January 6, 2004, and she shivered in the cold. She had a suitcase that she was dragging along, plus her purse and her laptop. I helped her into my living room and she fell asleep on my couch.

In retrospect, it's probably best that I don't know exactly what happened between my brother and my best friend. That's for them to discuss. They have a lot of things to work out between them.

I haven't spoken to Daria, since, oh, September 2006? She was transferred to some unknown location, I moved, and we lost touch. Here, in New York City, which I visit periodically, I miss her the most. Daria is my family, and I am at loss to describe the void she left behind her. 

Perhaps, if I asked Ani, I could get in touch with her again. In fact, I am certain that I could. But I am equally certain that her serenity- if there is any in her life- is as precarious as is mine. If Lee actually asks me to marry him, I will find her, because that would be something worth telling. Until then, I will not call her, for what if she doesn't miss me?

I don't want to know.

*****

**January 6, 2004 - ****Daria**

"Are you sure?" I asked. Barely had the words left my mouth when Dr. Mendez nodded. My aunt was out that day, which was just as well. I wanted to tell her myself.

I was alternatingly happy, angry, and nervous. Happy, because, some part of me had always wanted my own Molly. Angry, because I had unwittingly sacrificed my last scrap of independence. And nervous, because... Would Trent be happy? That meant the world to me, and the child that, according to Dr. Mendez, I had been carrying for almost two months. Some part of me suspected, but until that day I had tried to hold all thoughts at bay.

Trent was not home, and while I wasn't angry, I was disappointed. Damn merger. It was a good time to take a nap, so I did.

When I woke up, he was sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Trent, I've got something to tell you." I gave him a Mona Lisa smile.

"Look, Daria, if it's about the CIA thing, I still think it's a bad idea," he replied, and I knew we were in for another argument. As long as it would postpone the two words that I had to say for a little longer, I didn't care. I'd never felt anxiety before, not like that. What if he didn't want a baby?

"Why the hell _would it be about the CIA thing, Trent? One word out of my mouth and you think I'm going to bring up joining the CIA again, huh? Well, I'm not. Circumstances have conspired against me." More than he knew._

"Look, we've known each other for what? Six, seven years? I know you, and you won't just give up on something so easily. Why are you so set on this, Daria? I love you, and I don't want you to join, go over to that hostile situation in Iraq, and get shot up by some Iraqi asshole."

"Calm down. I'm not going to be shot up by some Iraqi. I'm only been taking martial arts courses for a year, and I certainly don't have enough training for field work. They'd put in a desk job. At least I'd be helping this country. I'm too smart to sit around doing a mediocre job as a CEO when I could be doing a _brilliant one in the CIA."_

Trent looked at me, and all of the sudden I hated him. I loved him, too, but I hated him. We were caught in war zone, and I'd possibly just screwed everything I'd tried to accomplish in these last years, and I hated him. For instigating the damn argument. For merging the damn record label, for the baby, for everything. We were both keyed up, and we'd come a point where we had to reconcile.

It is frightening, how in the space of seconds, a couple that was devoted to each other can become enemies. I couldn't comprehend how angry I was. He shouldn't have brought the CIA thing up, it was days ago, and now he was locking the final lock on my dependence. I felt like a stamp was about to be placed on my forehead, one that read: HIS. Nothing More.

"Then go," he said. I knew he didn't mean it, but I, like a fool, swept up the suitcase I'd packed earlier (for the trip to London, in two days), my laptop and disks, the few cds I love, and my purse. I threw our car keys on the floor, planted a last kiss on his forehead, and walked out the door.

I considered throwing myself off a bridge, but instead took a bus to Jane's.

*****

**November 17, 2008 - ****Jane**

I sit at my easel (it's a bit hard to stand right now), and think about how Daria should be here. I was there with her, from the beginning. 

She woke the next morning, and we sat down for a cup of tea at my kitchen table. She looked me straight in the eye, and said, "Jane, I'm two months pregnant, Trent and I had a fight last night, and I'm not going back."

I blinked. Daria put her head in her hands and cried.

"I'm not ready for this," she gulped between sobs. "I don't want to pull him down too. We had this stupid, idiotic fight, he told me to go, and I didn't come back. Do you know how I wanted to go back? I love him, but I hate him, for the baby, for- oh, I don't know. It was ridiculous. Stupid. I've got to go back."

So she did. She returned two hours later with a second suitcase.

I didn't know what to say this time, either.

*****

**April 7, 2000**

"Please, I-" The receptionist cut me off.

"I'm sorry, Daria. I know things have been tough," Darla said, "And I wish I could beat some sense into him, but I can't drag Trent out of this meeting. He's signing the final papers."

"Fine," I snapped. I'd never liked his receptionist that much.

It was a dumb idea to come here. I was a stupid idiot, and Trent didn't deserve being stuck with me. Let him love some beautiful Melody Powers chick, someone I could never become.

"A memo?" asked Darla.

"None. Don't tell him I came. Here's my letter of resignation."

I walked to the apartment and picked up a few things. I thought about leaving a note, but I didn't want him to know I'd been there. I didn't want him to know I existed. Or that our baby existed.

**Chapter Two**

**November 21, 2008**

Lee is gone today; he's at a convention of comic manufacturers in Philadelphia. He publishes his own comic book, similar to Dame Darcy's _Meatcake comics of yore. So I am home alone, back from NYC, in our Maine farmhouse._

Daria did meet Lee once, in early 2005, before she was stationed in Iraq. That comforts me a bit. I know that if she dies tomorrow, she will have met him. All I do know is that she isn't gone yet, for if she is killed in combat, I am to be her child's guardian. If only she could do the same for me.

You may wonder why I find myself thinking of Daria and her baby so much. I do, sometimes. I miss them so much. I've never found a friend like Daria, ever again. I love Lee more than I love my own life, but he is not Daria, or my brother, the two empty spaces he can never quite fill up. He tries.

Daria didn't want her child at first. I wanted mine, oh so bad, but God said, _No, Jane, you're a greedy girl, and took my baby away from me when I was six months pregnant. I got out of the hospital a month ago, and this has been the first time I've really been able to stay home alone. And here I am, brush in hand, blank canvas before me. I do not know what to paint._

Maybe I'm jealous of Daria. She had her son, and here I am. Just a vacant, empty vessel adrift in the stormy seas of the world. It was a girl, the doctors said. I would have named her Daria Rose, we would have finger painted together, and made daisy chains on the front lawn. Lee or I would have been the one to laugh at her first sarcastic joke. But I begin to lose hope in these dreams, now. Neither of my Darias are with me.

*****

**June 25, 2004**

It was Andrea's turn to cook dinner last night, and while it wasn't what you might call gourmet, it was okay. We've been sharing an apartment since February. I have some money, from selling my first book, and I'll be getting a job in December, working for the CIA. They plan to put me in Iraq in the fall of next year.

There is little enough time until my baby is born, and I am as round as the Goodyear blimp. I am beginning to feel happy that the baby is coming. We will make a good life together, my child and I.

Jane is the one who found me this apartment, and Andrea with it. She's actually quite a good roommate, if a bit eccentric. We get along well enough for the time being. There's not much to disagree about, anyway.

Jane is sad, that she and Trent, as well, have had a falling out. I don't want her to suffer, too. There's no reason they should be angry at each other. It's all my fault, and I'm in a little apartment in Washington, D.C., far away from them, though I am close to Ani, who has become a good friend. I will be driving up to New York the first week in August, though, because I want Jane with me when the baby comes. I'm not strong enough on my own. Yet.

The summer wiles itself away as I work on my second book. I wish Trent were here, but I shouldn't reminisce. I just have to keep on going, and everything will be alright.

*****

**December 14, 2008**

I lie next to Lee in bed. It is 2 am but I can't get any sleep. I get up and walk over to the window.

I'm in Maine; this is the place that I bought, not so much for myself, but for Daria. I don't know why. The house, with its dark hallways and nooks and crannies, would be perfect for her. It is perfect, for me, as well, but she would fill it up better, she would make the house her own.

I bought it so I'd always have something to remind me of her. Even if Lee didn't work out, I'd told myself then, Daria, my best friend, would always be there. We'd stayed friends through the Tom incident, so many years ago. She is more myself than I am.

She will not return from Iraq, I know. Not the Daria I knew as a teenager, in high school. Daria has grown up much since then, and Iraq will complete the change. On the other hand, so have I. 

I have always known, since I met him, that Lee and I will grow old together, but that Daria will only be a phone call away. And Trent, well, it's strange, I don't think of Trent often. When Daria left him, I chose my alliances, as much as it hurt him. He and I did not have a falling out so much as we grew apart, though. There was not much to say to each other. 

And as Daria came to grow up, so will I come to accept my losses. In time, it will all be shadowed in the dust and cobwebs of memory.

*****

**August 5, 2004**

"It's a boy," says the doctor, and I hold my son in my arms. My baby.

Jane sits next to me, and I hold him out to her. He is beautiful, if wrinkled.

"Why are you going to call him?" my aunt asks. She's arranged to be with me, as well.

"James Andrew Morgendorffer. Jimmy," I say. Then all goes black.

-------

**October 3, 2004**

They said it would difficult. But not this difficult.

It is only the second time I have been able to hold my son, and he will be two months old tomorrow. But to accept my assignment from the CIA, they had to change my body. I am not a courier or any such thing, I am an agent of espionage, and I must be able to withstand the conditions of my job.

Dr. Sedonlaw, the surgeon, says that I should be able to walk by next week. I will start training in November for the task I have been given, as the CIA's alternate Iraqi agent. Marcus Brinehauser, the original agent, was shot down last week. Richard Schitt is the only one over there at the moment, and if war breaks out, I will be needed urgently.

Several things happen to my body during this extended hospital stay. They lasered my eyes, to the point where I see _better than 20/20, they implanted a growth hormone that caused my body to advance my height another two inches, and there was extensive plastic surgery on my face. I am not recognizably Daria Morgendorffer- only someone who had known me for a very, very long time might have detected me._

I have not spoken to my parents or my sister in over ten months now. The odds are that I may never see them again. But Jane, who makes infrequent trips back to Lawndale, carries the news of them to me. I would love to have at least said goodbye to them, but the fewer people I make contact with, the lesser the chances of my cover being blown.

As far as the CIA is concerned, and as far as the world itself knows, Daria Morgendorffer lives somewhere far removed from its orbit. While my first book is a best-seller and I know I shall continue to write, there is little known about me other than that I disappeared in January. To the CIA, I am simply D.D. Powers (an inspiration from Melody, as you might have guessed.) The D's stand for Daria (yes, that's my middle name.)

I look in the mirror and I am surprised at what I see. I am thin, on the smaller side of average, with a catlike face that barely resembles the one that graced me before. My hair has been dyed several shades lighter than before, and a few thin blonde streaks run through it. Quinn would be proud, I think, that her older sister has finally become beautiful.

Jimmy, with his deep black hair, bears a startling resemblance to me, having inherited Jane's catlike face from his father. He sat with me everyday while I was still asleep, the operations having been performed in rapid succession after his birth. I did not regain consciousness until mid-September due to an adverse reaction to the growth hormones, and I was not able to move my arms enough to hold him until today, but Jane brought him by every day. She's been wonderful, my best friend has. 

I hold Jimmy, and I miss Trent. Why now? I wonder, but it's no use. I know, I know, that I'm an idiot and a fool, and that I still love him, but I can't go back now. I have my first assignment in February. There's no turning back now.

*****

**January 7, 2008**

I remember it as if it were yesterday. I was so tempted. But I didn't, and I'm glad.

I saw Trent there, outside the house. He'd come back to visit Summer and her kids, the current occupants. I had Jimmy in the car with me, because I was looking after him until Daria woke up (which was two days later.) I could have stopped, showed him his son. But I didn't, because that is Daria's job. And Daria is not inclined to doing it.

Damn her! I hate her now, like I know she must have hated Trent. Both of them, blissfully unaware of what they had. Trent didn't know about Jimmy. Daria didn't know about losing him. What made her more deserving? Mother to a child she hardly wanted. Of course, deep down I know no one could love Jimmy like she does, but the little green man has me by the throat today. My therapist urges me to talk about it, but I can't. Even Lee doesn't understand the full measure of the situation. Who am I without her? 

Who is she without me?


End file.
